>Super Bowl Sunday.
>After weeks of waiting it's finally here.
>You look at the arrangement of snacks.
>Wings? Check.
>Chips? Check.
>Salsa? Check.
>Nacho sauce? Check.
>Spinach dip? Check.
>More chips? Check.
>You look at the other table.
>It's covered in bowls full of pretzels and cheese puffs.
>The other table is taken up by a pizza the size of a car tire.
>In one corner of the room, a portal leading to a tidy apartment on Boylston Street shimmers. After a minute, a brilliant flash of light heralds your companion's return.
>Celestia cracks her neck loudly and puts down the two kegs she was carrying.
“Y'know, I coulda carried one a' those.”
>She rolls the kegs over to the pizza.
>”I needed yuh ta keep an eye on th' grill.”
“Touche. Dawgs uh done, by th' way. Put 'em on the plate by th' pizza.”
>”Perfect. Still time?”
“Caws. What beeah'd yuh get?”
>”Kegga Guinness anna kegga Sammy.”
“Winna ale?”
>”Regulah”
“Aight. We fuhgettin' anythin'?”
>”Gawt the dip?”
“All ninety of 'em. Tonna chips, too.”
>The Princess looks all around.
>”Think we've gawt it all, hun.”
>You slink over to her and wrap an arm around her waist.
>She inches closer to you before flashing a smile.
>Another blinding light hits your eyes as you're pushed back. Celestia flares her now-revealed wing and pulls you back to her.
>”Where do you think you're going?” she coos.
>You're about to go in for the kiss when Celestia's ear perks up.
>”It's on!” She dashes to the crystal ball and pulls the snacks into a circle around her, leaving room for you to wedge yourself next to her.
>”Ready?” She asks.
“Yuh doin' a good jawb dealin' wit this.”
>Her eye twitches.
>”Shut up.”
>She lights up the ball.
>The announcer introduces the event.
>”Welcome to the 2014 Puppy Bowl!”
1/
 
>One hour in.
“Did that dawg just take a shit on the field?”
>Celestia is slumped forward. There are bags under her eyes. She robotically reaches for another chicken wing.
“This is totally as good as the Supah Bowl, right?
>Celestia shovels a small pile of nachos into her mouth before groaning. ”I wanna die... How lawng has this been going?”
“Like an houah? I dunno. I lawst track at the cat cheahleadahs.”
>You pour another beer.
> “This was a mistake, wasn' it.”
“It was good fuh like... ten minutes.”
>”Maybe we ahn't drunk enough?”
“Maybe. Pass the seven-layah dip?”
>The Princess floats a nearly-empty casserole dish over to you.
>A puppy on the field flops over and trips another one.
>You scoop as much dip as you can onto a single chip and silently wish you had stronger beer.
2/
 
>Two hours in.
>The Guinness keg is empty. The chicken are gone and the nachos have disappeared.
>You're leaning on Celestia now.
>She's leaning forward, eyes wide and locked on the crystal ball.
>”Anon! Anon lookit 'is little paws!”
>A golden retriever puppy ecstatically bounds up the field, then promptly collides with a collie and falls over, eliciting a loud squeal from the princess.
>You feel around for the chips and spinach dip.
>Celestia grabs you and points your face at the orb.
>”Omigawd why've I nevah watched this befaw? Look! He's chasing his tail!”
“Yuh really gettin' inta this, ahncha?”
>”Yessssssss.”
>She downs another cup of Sam Adams.
>”Oh Sammie... You make everything tawlerable.” There's a tinge of reminiscence in her voice.
“Hey, Celly?”
>”Yeah?”
“You knew 'im, didncha?”
>”Yeah.” She watches you for a second before it dawns on her. “Oh! No, hun, it's nothin' like that. Fahk, it was like a thousin' yeahs ago. 'Sides, ol' Sam's gawt nuhthin on you. We had good times, though. Good times...” She swishes what little remains in the cup around.
>Something catches her eye.
>”Fahk! Lookit! His floppy liddle eahs! I want one!”
“We should geddit frum home. It'll be a puppy fuh like... faw yeahs insteada one.”
>Celestia's eyes go wide as dinner plate.
>”Yer a genius! That's what we'll do tuhmarrah!” She grabs you and squeezes hard.
“Glad I could help...” you wheeze.
3/
 
>Three hours in.
>The beer is gone. You're down to salsa and cold pizza crusts.
>Celestia has flopped onto the floor.
>You're lying on her back.
>Both of you are still staring at the ball.
>”...'s it still goin?” Celestia mumbles.
“Mmmphguhhuh,” you answer.
>A puppy scampers across the screen. The two of you track him with your eyes unenthusiastically.
>The princess lets out a deflated groan.
>”This is my punishment fuh gloatin' about the Pats, isn' it.”
>The announcer enthusiastically yells about some facet of the intricate tactical sport of puppy football.
>”Jesus Christ why do people watch this!?”
>There's a knock on the door. Before both of you can get up to react, it opens.
>”Celly! Oh my Goahd are you essited about the game?”
>Celestia's eye twitches violently.
>”The Giants ahn't even playin'. What do you give a damn faw?”
>Cadence slinks into the room and leans down over the two of you.
>”It's IN Jahrsey, though! I can go! Lu's awready there. I just wannida let ya know I was goin.”
>”Thank you so much,” Celestia growls.
>”Well, I should head oahf. Don' wanna be late! Nice ta see you, Anoahn!”
>You wave weakly, feeling Celestia twitch underneath you.
>When the pink princess leaves, the sun princess gets up. You cling to her, trying not to get dropped onto the empty plates.
“Waddaya doin?”
>”We...” she starts, throwing open the portal, “ah goin out ta get plastah'd.”
End